The 60's Revenge Killer
by iamwatsons
Summary: When the BAU is after a serial killer who's attempting to seek revenge on the people who play music of the modern day, what will happen to their youngest agent when he is taken hostage yet again? Short summary/CaseFic/ReidCentric
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi everyone. It's been a mad long time since I've written any FanFic (I've done things on the side and whatnot, but I haven't been on this site in a while). I've tried extremely hard to make this as legit as it can be. The beginning at least. I needed a more-so introduction chapter and this is it. If I messed anything up please bear in mind I haven't written anything for Criminal Minds before and I tried to get my facts straight as much as possible - as much as identify the characters correctly. Enjoy and I'd appreciate reviews as to know whether or not I should write Chapter 2. Thank you in advance. :)

Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Criminal Minds. Otherwise this would be an episode and not a FanFic.

* * *

Around the conference room, each agent could be found facing J.J. who was in front of the board with pictures mounted on it. Hotch stood relatively close to her and the rest seated around the table each with their own intent and tired expressions.

"He's calling himself the 60's Revenge Killer," J.J. began, her throat clearing as she pointed to the first victim. "In the past month, four bodies have been found in numerous alleys in Franklin, Tennessee. Each victim has been found with a slit throat, but not before they had been tortured. There were severe burns on each of the bodies and get this, forensics found traces of paraffin wax and carbon tetrachloride-"

"Most commonly found in your every day decorative lava lamp. Of course, you need water that often contains a glycerol derived additive to make it fully functional. It's quite obvious why that wouldn't be found on any of the victims though. " Reid simply butted in as he so easily recognized what the substances were used for. "Depending on whether or not it was a 25 or 40 watt bulb used to heat it up, it'd take about twenty to sixty minutes to melt and by that time if the substance actually made contact with anyone, it would no doubt in fact cause severe burns to any flesh it made contact with. Actually! In 2004, Phillip Quinn was killed during an attempt to heat up a lava lamp on his kitchen stove while closely observing it from just a few feet away-"

Hotch immediately cleared his throat and Reid noticed how amused, yet uncaring the faces of the rest of the team looked towards him. He tended to go off far too much when having information of any kind to share.

"I kind of want to know how he died," Prentiss added with a smirk. Reid immediately blushed lightly and cleared his throat.

"Oh, well, um the heat from the stove built up pressure in the lamp until it exploded. It ended up spraying shards of glass with enough force to pierce his chest - one shard piercing his heart and causing fatal injuries. My point was," he quickly followed before trailing off again, "our UnSub must be using the normal heating source if that truly is what he's using. It seems liable since he is calling himself the 60's Revenge Killer..." Reid suddenly drew a blank. Perhaps he should've allowed Hotch to continue explaining the rest of the murders before drawing any conclusions. "He gave himself that name?"

Hotch nodded immediately and pointed to bagged evidence on the board. It was a note. "He writes notes for people to find after he murders his victims. There is some good news though: we have one surviver; John Gracey. He was found yesterday and is in the hospital as we speak. He did manage to slit his throat though, but it was sloppy this time. He didn't hit the main artery. He's still having trouble speaking, but as far as we're concerned, he's conscious and remembers most of what happened to him."

"What's the note say?" asked Morgan, impatient for Hotch to get to that part on his own. Ignoring the man's eagerness, Hotch read it aloud:

"_If we can't find ourselves, what more do we have left to grasp on to? Do not expect us to conform to what little talent is shown today. Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be._

_-The 60's Revenge Killer_"

There were a few curious and confused glances around the room before Reid opened his mouth to speak again. "Well, at the end it's quite obvious he's quoting The Beatles. All though, the entire letter seems quite contradictory. Firstly, he speaks of not being able to find 'ourselves'. Then he's trying to say 'we' are conforming to something. Lastly, he quotes The Beatles, but the lyrics contradict his statement. If he were to 'Let it be', he wouldn't have stated change in the previous sentence."

"The UnSub also uses the pronoun 'us' rather than 'I' or 'you'. Which most likely means psychologically, but don't think he might not have some sort of partner in all of us," Rossi added quickly.

"Do any of the victims have anything in common?" asked Prentiss.

"In fact they do. All of the victims were white males in their early to late 20's. The most important factor though is that they were all in local bands that played clubs and small venues around the surrounding cities," J.J. answered as she pointed to a few pictures on the board.

The team exchanged glances once more. For now, this was all they had. They had to build up a profile and go from there. It'd be much easier when they reviewed the case on the jet.

* * *

The air was crisp and cool. All the leaves had already turned having it been so late in the fall season. Each of the BAU agents filed off of their jet, Morgan following closely to Reid. He quickly caught up with the younger agent.

"You feeling alright, kid?" he asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as they continued to walk towards the SUV that would transport them to the city police station. Reid craned an eyebrow and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," he stated with one of the more weaker smiles he was capable of conjuring up. He didn't know why he tried, quite frankly. Constantly, he was surrounded by profilers and the few people who knew him very best. Morgan's next expression was concerned.

"How many times do I have to tell you - you can talk to me. What is it? Having nightmares again or something?"

The manner in which Morgan spoke to him made Reid seem rather young and rather vulnerable. He seemed to get the constant feeling often when people expressed concern for him, though he was sure his friend meant well. He was also well aware that avoiding the subject matter would only be problematic on his behalf.

"No no, no nightmares. I haven't been getting much sleep at all, actually. I can't really seem to explain why." Contrary to the fact that calling Reid a genius would be an understatement, he seemed to be unable to put two and two together when it regarded himself. Had anyone else come up to him saying they were having sleeping problems, he would be the first to explain sleeping patterns and how sleeping disorders are identified. It was almost as if he were too careless to figure out what was actually wrong with himself. Realizing he had insomnia might make him feel physically flawed even more so than he already believed himself to be.

"Perhaps you should see a doctor then. They do have different sorts of treatments-"

Reid shook his head immediately. "I can handle it. It's probably just temporary." Morgan all but frowned.

"You and I both know-"

"I'm fine."

And Morgan did not push the matter.

* * *

As soon they had gone to the department and reviewed the case file again, Hotch inquired everyone of what they were to do next. Morgan, Reid, and Hotch were to go to the hospital to visit the victim that had survived while Rossi and Prentiss revisited the last crime scene.

When the three arrived at the hospital, Reid felt the same lack of excitement he got each time that he walked through the doors into the smell of bleach and sterile. It wasn't even due to bad personal experiences at the place, though he had quite a few. It didn't help that he killed someone for the first time in a hospital. If he had the choice, he'd never be forced to do so again. Twice was enough.

The three agents descended down the hallway once they got to the ICU. Once they identified themselves, a nurse escorted them to a small room. There lay a man, no older than twenty-five. His eyes nervously scanned over the agents, for he was well-aware of their presence. Hotch was the first to approach.

"Hello Mr. Gracey, I'm Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. These are Special Agents Derek Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid," he said rather monotonously as he pointed to each of the agents. "We're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I was wondering if we could ask you a few questions?"

The boy seemed as if he were having trouble focusing on the three agents before him. Most likely from the sedatives and pain medication that were flowing through his IV into his veins. After blinking a few times, he began to speak in an extremely low voice that caused the agents to move forward in unison to hear him properly.

"Yeah.. sure. What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice obviously more strained with each passing syllable.

"Would you prefer to write it down?" Hotch asked with a slight hint of concern. The boy shook his head and attempted to clear his throat. "Okay. If you don't mind telling me what you remember from the night you were attacked?" The boy winced as if he saw images behind his eyelids.

"I remember I was playing a show. With my band," he began in a hoarse and low voice. "Every night we go out to sign and meet fans. Then we head off to our van. Well beforehand, we usually change in our cabby. My clothes were pretty dirty from sweat and whatnot. One second I was putting on a clean shirt and the next my head hurt like hell. Son of a bitch hit me from behind and after I fell down he hit me again. All I remember after that was black until I woke up in some crazy ass room. There were like strings of beads hanging over some tiny threshold. I swear to God it was like one of those hippie vans. Well it was really big and roomy too. Cold as hell though. There were lava lamps everywhere. And posters of like old bands from the 70's or some shit. Records everywhere. He was playing one I think. I was tied up to some chair I guess. Next shit I know he's got these big ass gloves on and he's holding one of those lava lamps! I think he used a bottle opener on the top of it. I tried to tell him to stop but he didn't listen, man. It was then I realized I was just in my boxers. Creepy, man. Then he started to pour it on me little at a time. Hurt so fucking bad. Burned like no shit I ever experienced before. Kept saying I was ruining the greater music of the 60's or something. Trying too hard to recreate something that would never be replaced. It was weird as hell. I was scared shitless. Then he got out a knife and that's the last thing I remember. Woke up here and I thought I was dead or something. It's all I know. It was a lot worse than it sounds..."

"What you went through was truly awful. We're not judging you on how bad it sounds," Morgan immediately said.

"Did you see your attacker's face?" Reid asked as he moved closer to the bed.

"No.. he wore a big hood over his head and the only light in the thing was those Goddamn lava lamps. It was like a shadow. Wish I could be of more help. I'd do anything to find that son of a bitch and strangle him."

"We'll find him," Morgan replied. "Don't worry about that. Thank you for being so helpful and cooperative."

"Do you think you could inform me when you find him?" asked John. The agents assured him they would and with only a few smaller questions, they exited the room. It seemed that this was getting rather easier with all the information he had helped with. As they descended back down the sterile hallway, Morgan spoke up before anyone else could.

"I'm going to call Garcia and see if she can find any owners of any Volkswagen transporters in the area. It's most likely the type 2 model if this guy is into the whole 60's era." After his colleagues nodded their approval, he walked outside of the hospital so he was able to use his cell phone.

"_Garcia here, information analyst of anything and everything ever_," spoke the voice on the other line of his phone after he dialed her.

"Baby girl, I need you to do a search for me."

"_Anything for you, hot stuff._"

"Alright I need you to find any Volkswagen transporter models in the area. Most likely a type 2." On the other end of the receiver, loud typing could be heard. Morgan leaned back against a pillar as he waited for his colleague to respond.

"_I got five registered in the area. Crazy weird how there aren't more. Then again, the model came out in the 50's. I can send the names and addresses to your PDA._"

"Can you do a background check on the owners?"

"_You got it. I'll send that as soon as I get it._"

"Have I ever told you you're the best?"

"_Not nearly enough_," she replied playfully, the line dying soon after. Before Morgan could walk back inside, Reid and Hotch walked out of the front doors.

"We just spoke to the doctor. His injuries are similar to the rest of the victims. We need to figure out why he got sloppy this time though. Get anything from Garcia?"

"She sent me the names and addresses of five registered vehicle owners in the area. I'm thinking Reid and I can go to the first one and you can meet up with Prentiss and Rossi about the other. We can go through the list seeing as they're all within thirty miles of the department."

Secretly, Reid hoped that Morgan didn't stick him with him just to interrogate him more about the matter they'd discussed that morning. The man could be persistent, but Reid could be just as stubborn. He forced a straight smile and nodded as Hotch got his phone out to call the others. Perhaps they had gathered more information from the crime scene.

* * *

Reid sat uncomfortably in the passenger seat of the SUV as Morgan and him had made their journey to the first house. With one legg crossed over the other, his foot began to shake subconsciously as he looked out of the window.

"The vehicle is registered to a 'Roger Priest'. I'm having Garcia run a background check on him as we speak."

"Do you think this guy is like some 60's prodigy? I mean, he attacks from behind which shows that he isn't physically fit most likely. I feel like building a profile for this guy should be easy, but honestly some of the small details don't add up."

"What do you mean?"

Reid shifted uncomfortably. "Well, okay. So he attacks at night after the concerts. He somehow manages to sneak into where band members go to change, but only if there's one in the area. He attacks from behind - cowardly. Then he proceeds to knock them out. How does he keep them stable once he manages to transfer them to his vehicle without being seen? I'm sure he's parked close, but think about it. If they are signing autographs there has to be a bunch of teenage girls. It's almost too simple, but what does he get out of it? It's just music."

"Obviously there are things we still need to figure out, Reid. Hopefully this will be it and he can tell us himself." The thought was nice, but even Morgan himself didn't think it would be that easy. It never was.

Much to Reid's appreciation, Morgan didn't mention the incident earlier. They quickly arrived at a small house. It was as ordinary as any of them ever were. There was a two car garage. The two agents stepped out of the vehicle, a squad car pulling up behind them on the curb. They arrived to the front stoop in unison and Morgan proceeded to ring the doorbell. Moments passed and there was no answer. Reid quickly lost his patience and began to wander to the nearest window. For some reason, he felt like getting Morgan to kick in the door even though they didn't have a warrant. Perhaps it was his lack of sleep getting to his head. The blinds were open, making it easy to peer through. The television was on. "Morgan, the television's on. I think he's here." In the distance, he could hear the man calling out that he was FBI as he knocked on the door. Without a thought of hesitation, Reid proceeded to move around to the back of the house. The VW was parked right under the deck. "I got the vehicle, Morgan! He's got to be here!" he shouted as he instinctively, cautiously moved down the steep hill, gun held out in front of him. He heard the door open from the front and two voices began to speak. He had ventured too far to understand them completely, but Morgan hadn't called out to warn him of anything so he continued on, maybe getting a glance of what was inside the vehicle. This could be the UnSub. He wasn't about to let anything happen.

Once the young agent approached the vehicle, he peered inside and saw the lava lamps. This had to be their guy. Just as he was about to get out his phone to call his colleague, it fell to the ground. Along with Reid from the blunt force that hit the back of his head. Not another thought could flow through it as another blow hit him and everything went black.

* * *

A/N: Again, I'd really like feedback as to if you like it or not. I promise the next chapter will be more intense; I just really needed to get all the information down!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry it took a few days update. Honestly, I broke my foot yesterday and I've been on a series of pain medicines which is making it hard for me to focus on the story, but it also seems to be the only thing I want to do! You know what I mean? As soon as I'm just on bed rest without the pain medicine, I'll update super frequently. Until then you're stuck with probably every 2-3 days. Don't worry though it won't ever be any longer than a week haha. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) (A/N at the end too)

* * *

"Where the _hell_ is my agent?" Hotch asked forcefully as he leaned over the small table separating him from the man they had brought into custody. He himself had not really been filled in on all of the details. All he knew was Reid was gone, this man had answered the door to the house he was taken at and the house had been searched thoroughly – no sign of his agent. Honestly, Hotch had been put into this situation one too many times. It seemed as if every time he got a phone call it was about something happening to Reid. For all he knew, it could be a trick of the mind just because the agent was rather vulnerable and young. The technicalities were far from important at the moment though. Not until he found Spencer.

The guy opposite of Hotch was rather old. Roger Priest was precisely sixty-two years old. His hair was a shiny gray, but met his shoulders. The panicked look on the older man's face didn't have Hotch the least bit concerned as he pressed his questions.

"For the last time, Agent Hotchner, I haven't any idea what you are talking about. The other man kept asking me the same thing. How could I know where he is? I was too busy talking to that Agent Morgan fellow. I didn't even see anyone else other than the cops at the end of the driveway."

Aaron growled with impatience and pushed away from the table. He quickly began to pace as he searched his brain for the correct questions.

"Well, assuming you are telling me the truth, who else could've been at your house? My agent is _gone_ and so is the VW that was parked in your back yard."

"It looks like you need to take better care of your agents or they should be more conscious of the decisions they make. You wouldn't want an irresponsible agent on your team-"

"I asked who else was at your house, Mr. Priest?" The older man smirked and sat back. Had he not been cuffed, he would've crossed his arms flatly over his chest.

"I want a lawyer."

If Hotch had been in a normal state of mind, he perhaps could've convinced their suspect to give up more information. On the contrary, the Supervisory Special Agent had lost his last ounce of patience the moment he had gotten the phone call. The door slammed behind him as he stormed out and found Morgan. The distressed look on his colleagues face hit him immediately and he prevented himself from going into a rage.

"I don't know what happened out there, man," Morgan said in a low voice, his elbows resting on his knees with his head propped onto his hands. The small seat was all but comfortable. "I thought he was fine. I would've gone with him, but the guy opened the door just after he walked off. Even if he had been in danger, I thought that I was with the man who would've put him in it. I didn't even hear anything... I could've saved him I just – trust he would be okay."

Hotch watched as the little color left Derek's face and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Even he knew no one was to blame here. The only thing that mattered now was getting Reid home safe.

* * *

The idea of thick and cold air was like a nightmare. Spencer had experienced many dreams involving the temperature and sometimes it was completely irrelevant to the weather outside. It was hard to explain, but even lately the young genius had been waking up in a hot flash when his brain finally shut off long enough to let him sleep. It usually occurred after seeing death behind his eyelids. Even though it hadn't always been nightmares about his job, with the little sleep he got lately, nightmares were the only thing he could conjure.

The tip of his spine ached as he attempted to lift his head up subconsciously. It wouldn't have been the first time Reid had fallen asleep in an upright position. It kind of came with the job. If it came to it, the agents would do all they could just to get a couple minutes of sleep. Although this particular time, his spine beyond ached. As soon as he moved his arms to stretch, there was no room. His arms were bound behind him by cold metal. Handcuffs, no doubt. Once he quickly came to these realizations, his eyes sprung open.

Beads dangled from a small threshold in front of him. He knew exactly what he was staring forth at though. It was the van he had been lurking through the window just before everything went black. The chair he was tied to faced the back door, beads swinging from side to side as the wheels beneath them were making prominent turns. When Reid turned his head to the side, he half expected the lit up lava lamps to fall over from the force the turns had made, but they didn't budge. The rest of the dark area was decorated with artifacts from the era it represented. Posters hung from the ceiling and had it not been such a small, enclosed space, it could've been mistaken for a bedroom. Without the bed of course.

Panic struck the young agent as soon as his memory hit him in the face. The useless struggle began as he forced his arms from the handcuffs they were bound in, but to no avail. To his side the window was cracked open which was the reason for the cold air hitting his bare skin... then he realized he was just in his boxers. That was why he was so cold. Another involuntary chill ran throughout his tiny body, but this time it wasn't due to the harsh air. This was not happening; _this was not happening_. His active brain relived scenarios in his head. Those of torture and the feeling of being helpless. More than anything, he hoped that that was not the case right now. He was in a van with a serial killer; he was plain naïve to anything else.

His eyes felt thick with sleep, which was rather unusual even having been knocked unconscious. It was the familiar feeling of not being able to comprehend the situations around him. The clogged mind that refused to use it's full potential. The feeling of narcotics flowing through his veins, this time involuntarily. His eye's lidded themselves and his lips parted slightly as if he were napping, but he was still aware of his surroundings. It seemed like hours, but was probably only thirty minutes later that they came to a halt. That is when the real fear began to run throughout the young boy's body. As much as he needed his limbs to work, he couldn't think of a time they had been more useless. Then the doors before him opened and a blinding light caused him to squint at what came before him.

* * *

Both Morgan and Hotch stood with still faces and arms crossed in front of the one-way glass. The old man didn't even look capable of kidnapping a federal agent. Perhaps it would've been the easy way to do this. Blame the man they caught, but obviously that got them nowhere. Even though Hotch knew deep down that it wasn't him, he was also well aware he was hiding something. The moment he requested a lawyer was the moment Aaron knew he wasn't going to be getting anywhere with the man. They had to find their agent on their own. The older agent just hoped it would be before it was too late. He had had a lot of slim chances of saving their youngest and the idea that it may not be so lucky this time ate away at him.

"Call Garcia," Hotch muttered, monotonously. Uncrossing his stiff arms, he turned around to go through the door. "I'm going to have a talk with J.J. about any evidence that might've been found at the crime scenes. Anything at all." Before Morgan nod his approval, Hotch descended through the door. The dark-skinned agent took out his cell phone and speed-dialed their tech.

"_Hey handsome, what can I do for ya?_" Garcia's familiar voice sounded on the other end of the receiver. Derek's reply wasn't as cheerful as the blissful woman on the other line.

"I need you to find something – anything. I don't know," he mumbled before shaking his head. His mind felt like it was pounding... pain knocking around his head from trying to think. From trying _not_ to think about what could be happening to his colleague. "Sorry," he continued. "I just need to know if maybe someone lived with Priest. Something's... kind of happened. I don't want to worry you, but it's probably only fair if you know." He could almost hear the beat of hesitation on the other line. He could almost imagine the woman's soft, worried face going into one of shock and fright. Concern.

"_What happened?_" was all she managed to get out.

"Reid – we uh, we think... well we know... something's happened to him. He kind of disappeared at the house. We just need to find out who might've taken him. He would've been at the house when we went there. Can you find that out for me?" he asked, feeling the blood in his veins almost freeze.

"_No no no no, not again. Just-_" she nearly found herself going off, but cleared her throat. Though the instinctive tears formed in her eyes, she began to type away at her computer. "_He has a son, Robert. Thirty years old. He doesn't have a house of his own. Your Priest guy isn't married. His wife died in '82. It's all there is. He's retired and he's a part of a country club in the center of Franklin._"

"Thank you, baby girl. Send the background check on the son to my PDA. I'll call you as soon as we know anything at all. I promise." He closed the phone and walked out the door to find Hotch standing there waiting for him. "He's got a son who might live with him. Thirty years old. We need to find out more about him. Garcia's sending my the background check on him. It's not much, but it's something." Hotch nodded, clearing his throat.

"I have road blocks set up around the city looking for his van. Wherever he is, he can't get far. I still don't understand how he got so far without you knowing he was gone."

"I kind of would like to figure out how he did it too."

"Then there is only one place we can go."

* * *

Once his eyes had finally adjusted to the light, he was surrounded by near darkness once more. The only dim light was through the covered windows and the lava lamps. This was not going to be his death. Not if Reid could help it. He had been stuck in situations like this one time too many. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair.

"You don't want to do this," he said calmly. As calmly as his monotonous voice could sound as he hid away his fear, anyway. "I'm a federal agent. They'll find you... they're probably close behind you. If anything – you could be surrounded in mere moments." Before he could say anything else, he felt a sharp pain against the side of his face. He had been pistol whipped before he could even say anything else. A small whimper thrust past his parted lips and he cleared his throat. He had a gun obviously. This wasn't a part of his normal MO though, Reid knew this much. Which meant this was obviously Reid's gun and his captor had taken it from him. Most likely he was being bound by his own handcuffs as well. The young boy attempted to stop thinking about the likeliness of him getting out of this alive and just waited for something else to happen. Nothing but silence. This motivated Reid to speak out again.

"I'm not... I'm not one of the people you hate. I believe in the music you listen to. The era you respect so much. If you ask my opinion, I think it's awful what things have come to these days. It's not right, you know? I- I can help you. I can help you get rid of the- the posers." Spencer swallowed hollowly and looked upward to find another pair of eyes to meet with his own. He was granted with nothing but darkness.

"I would've let you go," the other man finally said, rubbing his hands together in some attempt to get warmer. "If you were just a normal person, I would've let you go. But you're just as bad as the others... you're just as bad."

"What did I do?" he asked, weakly.

"People like you... cops – you killed my mom." Reid's eyelids closed in defeat. He knew exactly how these things went and if he didn't come up with something better than the argument he had already started, he would end up like the other victims.

"I'm not a cop..." Before Reid could go on, the man pulled his hand into his pocket and shoved the agent's credentials into his face. Spencer winced at the sudden movement, afraid to be hit again. He meekly nodded his head and cleared his throat again. "Federal agents aren't cops... I- I don't-"

"Shut up already!" he screamed, backhanding Reid with a fury he hadn't even seen in himself. Another whimper made it's way past his lips. Without another word, the man walked past Reid and towards one of the lava lamps, putting on what looked to be an oven mitt. He knew exactly what was coming.

"Y- you don't want to do that. Listen to me. I'm on your side. I didn't do anything to you, remember? I need you to trust me. That will cause many problems... I mean third degree burns. The last victim you did that to survived. Do you really want to see an innocent man suffer? I mean... third degree burns involve both layers of the skin and may also damage the underlying bones, muscles, and tendons. They're damn nasty to look at too. Besides, I'm not the revenge you're looking for, right? I mean, you're seeking revenge on the 60's. I wasn't even alive. I'm not doing anything to damage the era or make it forgotten about. You need to understand that this isn't the right thing-"

"I like when you talk." Reid stopped dead in his speech. Of all things, that was the last thing he had imagined hearing. Arching an eyebrow, he stared dumbfounded. "Mhm. Half the time you sound like you're reading a text book. You must be very smart. What kind of person would I be if I killed you?" Reid did not think it would be this easy in a million years. Didn't think he would be able to convince the man who had every intention of murdering him not to. All because of his knowledge-filled brain. "What kind of person would I be if I let you go though, right?"

Before any more words could be spoken, the man ran his fingers through Spencer's sweat-dampened hair and let out a thoughtful hum. Oh, how useful the boy would be.

* * *

A/N: So I had this really clever/good idea, but it has to do with sexual abuse so I wanted to run it by readers to see if they would approve of that or not. It's kind of evil, but I can't help it. It's so easy to use Reid like that, haha. Well help me out in reviews so I can know how to write the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Again I am sorry the updates take a few days. I'm still recovering from my broken foot and on tons of pain medication so sometimes it's hard to concentrate long enough to write. I hope this chapter isn't a disappointment. I took what each and everyone of you had to say about the sexual abuse and I think I've come to a good compromise about it. It's not in this chapter, but I don't think it will disappoint. I am very thankful for all of your reviews and I promise it will get more intense within the next chapter. Thank you and please tell me what you think about it. :)

* * *

Spencer Reid was not going to die. He had gathered this much. Once the UnSub had described him as "useful", the young agent had figured it all out. Well, not everything was perfectly clear. His brain was still a bit foggy and his head throbbed, but he was nearly ninety-nine-point-nine-nine percent positive, he was going to live. His colleagues would find him, no doubt. Until then, he just had to be cooperative. Because the statistics went down quite a lot if he said or did the wrong thing. He cleared his voice as he felt the uninviting, calloused fingertips violate his hair.

"And what is it we're going to do next?" Spencer questioned thoughtfully. Words were everything. They would be until he was found. Using the wrong ones would result in consequence.

"You're going to get us some money. I assume that big brain of yours can count cards."

The idea of cheating at a game of Black Jack never quite amused Reid enough to try and do it. He was too humble, honest. He'd much rather deserve the money he earned than use his talents for advantages against other people. Considering he was from Las Vegas himself, he knew the game well. He also knew how to count cards. Again, he never found much interest at putting it to the real test. There was also a doubt in his mind as to whether or not he should tell this man he could or not.

"I haven't tried before. It's far too easy to get caught these days," he mused, attempting to sound innocent. "I have a quick question.. if I may?" A disgruntled look appeared on the captor's face and he growled slightly.

"Well what is it?"

"May I know your name? I mean, seeing as you know mine and all. It seems the easiest way for me to contact you... especially if you plan on having me gamble to get you money." Swallowing back nervously, the man who hovered over him began to tap his fingers against the hem of his own jeans, considering what the young agent said.

"Rob. My name is Rob. We need to get you cleaned up. If you don't cooperate, I can assure you, you will regret it. So you best listen to me. I'm going to go inside and get a room at this motel. You're going to take a shower and put on your clothes. We will then proceed to go to an underground casino I know about in town. If you try to tell anyone about your circumstances or escape, innocent people will die. And we both know you don't want innocent people to die because of you now do we, Dr. Reid?"

* * *

It had taken Spencer merely half an hour to get ready. The gash beside his left eye was the only unnatural thing about him as he looked into the mirror. He had gotten his own privacy as he showered and put on a nice suit. Though, he wasn't really sure where it had come from or whom it belonged to. With a deep breath, he continuously pushed his hair behind his ears. It was clean and not as greasy as usual. Instead of staying slick, it had a sort of volume to it that made him look even more professional. Once he had finished brushing his teeth and smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit, a frightened expression crossed him as he glanced once more at the mirror. The conclusion he had come up with earlier that he wouldn't die was starting to sound less reassuring as he repeatedly said it in his mind. What would be the point in keeping him if he could win this man money? But his team would find him. And no doubt, Spencer Reid would assist them in doing so.

"You about done in there?" an aggravated voice shouted from the other side of the door. With another deep breath, Reid nodded to himself and turned the doorknob to face Rob. Few words were exchanged as they got into a car casually. It wasn't the bus they had been driving around in before. That would be too easily spotted of course. He didn't know how Rob had gotten his hands on it, but also figured it wasn't the time for questions either. Without hesitation, Reid pulled on his seatbelt and leaned back, his insides jumping around inside of him with both nervousness and fear.

* * *

"I think it's time we have a press conference," Hotch muttered as he stood sternly in the doorway of the office J.J. had been posted up in. It took her a moment to realize he was in the room and his words to go through her head straight. With all of the chaos going on, she was trying her best to help the team in finding the UnSub.

"Do you think it's a good idea to-"

"Reid is missing, J.J. We have pictures of him, Robert Priest and the vehicle they're in. Along with the license plate. I will not go on trying to find the clues when we can have other people out there searching. Doesn't that sound a bit more logical?"

The entire way Hotch was acting was almost foreign. He hardly ever went off on people during interrogations and he never bent the rules. It was always _different_ when it involved one of their own. It was always _different_ when it was Reid – the youngest member on the team, the smartest member on the team, the one member who Hotch didn't know if handling this emotionally would be easy for him or not. Surely not. Between the last time something remotely close to this happened and the small mishaps that just _came_ with the job, Hotch was sure Reid wasn't prepared for this emotionally. He also knew there was nothing he could do about it. Basically, the faster they found him, the better. The less damage would be done.

"I'll get on it right away, Sir," J.J. said, interrupting the chief's thoughts. Without another word, Hotch nodded and turned on his heel to go back down the hallway. Surely someone will have found _something_ by now. Prentiss approached him rather hurriedly as she clutched a piece of paper.

"Someone reported seeing the VW. It was about an hour ago just off I-65. They were headed north."

Considering this place was assumedly downtown, the area was rather bare. If anything, the most popular attraction was a small park maybe five blocks from where they were parking. Part of Reid felt as if he had been set up, but there was no point in that really.

"Alright listen to me, kid. You aren't to speak to anyone unless spoken to. Your name isn't Spencer Reid. You're not a doctor or in the FBI. You're to stay be me at all times. If you try to get away, you will most certainly regret it. If you behave, good things will happen in the future. If not, consequences beyond anything you can imagine will be in order."

Without another word, Rob got out of the car and Spencer followed shortly thereafter. After walking halfway down a deserted alleyway, Rob knocked on a door that looked to be abandoned. A small window opened and he leaned in to mutter a word to the person on the other side. The door was then opened for them and before Reid's eyes the scene changed. There were at least a couple hundred people packed into this small "underground casino". Everyone was just as dressed up as him. It was classier than a Las Vegas casino, that was for sure. Rob walked away to sit a table. They had gone over signals beforehand.

Reid still didn't understand this at all. It would be way too easy to screw everything up. One false move and they'd be kicked out of there. Technically, counting cards wasn't illegal, but it was most definitely frowned upon, even in small casinos like this one. More than anything, he craved a drink, but decided against ordering one as Reid was signaled to join the table. If there was a time in the life he had to be in full genius mode, it was now.

By the time he had gotten the hang of everything, it was all too easy. If he hadn't been in the situation he was in now, he'd probably consider this enjoying himself. Sure, even having been from Vegas himself he could've been doing this whenever he wanted to, he hadn't. It wasn't ever about the money to him. Of course, it most definitely couldn't be about the money now seeing as he wouldn't be receiving any for his own work. It had been nearly two hours before he excused himself to use the facilities. It had been so abrupt that he was sure Robert didn't even realize he had technically left his sight.

The small stall was hard to pace in, but the young agent managed to do so as he tried to figure out a way to contact his colleagues. Something. Anything. The door to the bathroom swung open with a loud _whoosh_.

"Come on, kid. We're leaving."

He didn't have the time. Now he just had to pray they would be making another stop before heading back to whatever hell was set up for him. He had to leave something behind.

The red, distinct numbers on the small digital clock read 10:34, a small dot next to it signaling it was in the evening. Morgan all but lost his mind as he stared at the numbers evolve into more time they had wasted. It was far too hard for him to concentrate. How could he let Reid go on his own? _How could he be so careless?_ The thoughts popped into his head like a constant cruel reminder that he would never forgive himself if something happened. Hotch had advised him to take a nap, even though he seemed a little hesitant on advising the agent to do anything other than help find Reid. Many times, he had tried to convince himself to go find the father again – further question him. It would be useless now that he was lawyered up. It was all up to them now.

As if seeing something fresh would keep his mind more sane, he flipped on the switch to the television in the small room he was in. The first thing he saw, of course, was a snippet from J.J.'s press conference along with three pictures. One of Robert, one of the vehicle and it's license plate number and one of Reid. The last of them all was the one that made his heart sink. Then a more surge of fury spread throughout his veins. As unprofessional as it seemed, he was tempted to just tear apart whoever took his colleague. His friend.

"Morgan," said a voice from the door. A moment later, a head peeped through – the head of Dave Rossi, "someone's spotted the vehicle on the interstate and we just received another phone call. Someone has seen Reid within the last half hour. Hurry we're all meeting in the conference room."

The two agents scurried down the narrow hallway and into the conference room of the police department. Surrounding the table was Hotch, J.J., and Prentiss. The two joined them with silent nods to everyone. It was far too odd to be sitting like this without their youngest here blabbing his mouth on about things no one really cared about.

"Someone said they saw Reid and Robert at an underground casino around 9:45 this evening. Apparently he was gambling... He was the, quote 'luckiest man of the night'. Made over Four Grand and left. No witnesses have said if they saw where they left to though. So all we know is where he was roughly forty-five minutes ago. We still have a lot to look into, but it's a lead," Hotch explained.

They were on the road for nearly fifteen minutes before Reid had been able to gather the confidence to ask where they were going. Not know just didn't work for him. He needed to know everything at all times. Always.

"Where is it that um – we're going next?"

"It's time."

"Time for what?"

"It's time."

Reid swallowed and look back out the window. Part of him just wanted to jump out of the car right now. The major injuries would be better than dying. _They will find me_. He hesitated. _But will they find me soon enough?_ His fingers grasped the door handle. He pulled it towards him and then pushed.

"You must think I'm a fool," said the cold voice in the driver's seat. "The child lock is on. You don't actually think I'd drive you around like this if it wasn't? You now have one consequence. Keep it up."

The rest of the ride was silent until they pulled into a small parking lot to what looked like a club. There were tour buses around everywhere. It hit Reid where they were immediately. Calling it anything less than the next crime scene would be misleading.

"If you make a scene, you'll regret it. Just follow me and do as I say." Again, the two began to walk down a narrow sidewalk where many girls were lined up. Many of them wore shirts that looked alike and grasped CDs and posters. Reid drastically wanted to reach out to one of them and tell them to somehow call the police. Somehow save him. He couldn't risk anyone else's life though. "Alright now you see that guy over there? Go distract him while I work on this one. I swear to God innocent lives will be taken if you make a scene." Reid simply nodded.

His feet felt heavy. This feeling was all too familiar. Save a life, another dies. The sickening feeling rose in his stomach and he could almost feel the bile in his throat. Blinking repeatedly, he approached the man he was supposed to.

"Hi I'm Spencer, Spencer Reid," he said with a warm smile. He held out his hand. "I really wish I was here to say I'm a big fan, but someone is in trouble." He kept his smile warm. "After I tell you this, I want you to laugh because we're being watched... someone is here and they're going to kill a friend of yours. You need to call the police. If you don't, more people than you could imagine will be in trouble. But don't get out your phone yet. Act like you're answering your phone or something and try to nonchalantly dial 911." Reid nodded and kept his warm smile. The one from the other was forced, but if this kid was right, the last thing he wanted to do was make a scene. To die.

"Go," he whispered and turned around to look for Rob. He wasn't in sight. He just needed to make up an excuse such as the man had to go inside and grab something. Like a water or his jacket. It wouldn't be too hard. By the time he was a few feet away, the light from his cellphone shown and Reid swallowed. _Please, please, please..._

A gun shot went through the air. Reid jumped to the ground instinctively, yelling out to the person in front of him to do so as well. He was too late. The bullet had been aimed at him in the first place. Rob knew. The only thing he could think to do now would be to run, but as soon as the idea comprehended his mind, a solid kick hit him in the stomach. Then another and another.

"I _told_ you. You're so screwed kid. You won't even know what hit you. Come _on_ and get your scrawny ass up before I make you."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Okay okay I've come to yet another compromise to the sexual abuse thing. I'm not going to do it because a lot of people are against it and I kind of don't want to lose readers because I make them feel uncomfortable. But! I am planning on writing a fic on my lj (which is posted on my FF profile) and it will be centered around that precisely. This way everyone wins. I'll also inform you in my author notes on if I've started it or not. I write some other CM fic on there if you wanna check it out btw. :) Anyway I'm sorry again for the long update! I'm thinking Reid will be found soon, but expect quite a few recovering/aftermath chapters. This story is sooo not close to finished yet. Enjoy! Oh and reviews are greatly appreciated. It sounds lame, but when I don't get them I don't feel like I'm doing a good job haha!

* * *

Flashing lights surrounded the area around Morgan and Hotch as they stood over a pool of blood. Neither one had spoken since they had gotten out of the vehicle they had arrived at the crime scene in. It was all too much – too overwhelming. The body had just been moved therefore the only thing left was the drying blood and bullet casing a few feet away. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Hotch had decided earlier in the evening that if he continued to get as hot headed as he had when they had first found everything out, that he wouldn't go about solving all of this right. He also had a debate on whether technically he was _solving _a case or _saving_ his subordinate. It was a tough draw. The latter made him use less of his brain and more of his heart. Morgan on the other hand refused to hide away how angry he was. It wasn't unlike the experienced agent though, but it wasn't truly helpful either. Every moment it seemed as if he was going to punch a wall... or even a person if he had a good reason to. He was harmless though.

"Agent Hotchner?" asked a voice from behind the two men. They both turned on their heel, even though Hotch had been the only one requested.

"Yes?" he asked, voice monotonous; dry.

"We found this on the sidewalk – it might pertain to finding your agent. I don't know of any other reason it'd be around here and there was a small pool of blood just a couple of feet from it."

The detective handed Aaron the bagged evidence. Morgan definitely didn't allow the unit chief to have his privacy while examining the evidence, which normally might've irritated the man. This time it didn't really matter. Both eyes scrolled over the words _Hill Top Motel_. It was a tiny sticky note that was usually left on the dressers or night stands at hotels (and motels). Both agents felt a jerk of hope inside their chest. Hotch was the first to speak.

"Dust that for prints," he told the detective before turning to Derek, "Call Rossi and Prentiss. We're going to the _Hill Top Motel_."

While sprinting back to the SUV, Hotch couldn't help but admire how well Reid was at leaving clues while he was in dangerous situations.

* * *

The worst kind of sleep was a cold sleep, in Reid's opinion. In fact, when he was cold he could hardly ever reach the third, fourth and fifth cycles of sleeping because of the discomfort he was in. However, when he was knocked unconscious, the cold seemed to find him in his incoherent dreams. It seemed to surround him and frighten him. The dream was odd though, for he couldn't see a thing. He could only feel hands all over him – touching and invading. He had to be naked. It wasn't even in a sexually arousing way; more so just to dominate him. Then his breath left his lungs and he was dying. _Scientifically speaking, you can never die in your dreams. If you jump off of a building, you always wake up before you fall. If you die in your dreams, you never wake up._

Gasping and coughing for air, Spencer's eyes shot open. His vision was extremely blurry, but he could see the outline of a body hovering over him. He didn't need two guesses to whom it was. His body felt groggy again, like his brain couldn't function like it usually did. In fact, comprehending the situation took far longer than it usually would have. The familiar feeling of narcotics invaded his body and it wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair how once again, he had no choice. He didn't want them – he didn't crave them. In fact, the idea of not being in control of his body disgusted him.

"Dr. Spencer Reid. Supervisory Special Agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI." Reid blinked a few more times, attempting to sit up from his laying position. His wrists were bound in front of him, along with his feet. He realized he was wearing nothing more than his boxers. _Kind of like his dream-_. He blinked again, the scene becoming a little more clear. Rob continued, "You were addicted to Dilaudid. You worry about your mental health because of your mother. You hold three doctorates: Mathematics, Chemistry and Engineering. All by the age of twenty-one too! Two under-graduates in Psychology and Sociology." His eyes were so heavy, but he kept trying. Kept blinking, beginning to forcefully examine his surroundings. "You think you're going to be a Schizo, don't you, Spencer? Ah, you graduated high school when you were twelve. Cal Tech for college? How classy, kid. Tell me, what is a genius like you doing in the BAU? Profiling people. Hmm, I haven't been trained like you, but I think I could get you down. At least slightly. You're a misunderstood genius who obviously had some sort of trauma when you were younger that directed you in the way of the FBI. You've never been in love or even had a real girlfriend before. You are either truthfully socially awkward or you don't have time for love. Or perhaps you don't have the self-confidence. You had a fling once though, right? With Lila Archer... don't you think she's a bit out of your league? Why of course you do; this magazine is dated from 2006. You didn't even keep contact. You don't think you have any real friends and your job is your life. You had a drug problem, but you've been clean for quite a while now. Your one year chip is a beauty." Spencer managed to see passed Rob. The fabric from his own couch stared back at him. His eyes immediately shot to the left where his bookshelf stood high and packed. They shot to the right where his door was shut, all locks in place. They were in his own apartment. "It's funny how your driver's license has your address on it, isn't it? And how someone as smart as you would hide your spare key in such an easy spot?"

Spencer squirmed from his spot, but it seemed as if his body was acting against him. The pain he just realized was pooling in his stomach shot to something nasty and excruciating as soon as he kicked his tied legs. His throat felt so dry that he couldn't talk. He was completely and utterly shocked and confused at the situation.

"You know, Spencer, addicts shouldn't hold onto the things they are trying so hard not to use. Why on earth did you have this with a syringe in your medicine cabinet?"

Reid almost wanted to speak and explain, but this sick man did not deserve an explanation. It was the young genius' way of knowing he didn't need it anymore. By having it in blind sight every single morning and walking away from it was the most powerful and successful feeling. He didn't even want to use. He didn't need to. Rob knew nothing about Spencer. Nothing _really_. Before his thoughts could proceed, he felt a sharp kick in his stomach, causing him to let out a sort of wheeze. His lungs gave out for a few moments. That must have been why he felt like he was drowning on air in his sleep. The taste of blood hit his lips from the back of his throat. He was sure if he wasn't being medicated right now, he would be in a lot more pain than he felt. It didn't make him feel the slightest bit better.

Spencer Reid was not going to die, but he was going to wish for death before all of this was over.

* * *

"Son of a bitch!" Morgan bellowed, kicking at a patch of dirt and rock on the ground right outside the _Hill Top Motel_. Hotch nodded his head, completely agreeing with his subordinate's thoughts, but not feeling the need to say them aloud. Morgan began to shake his head to himself, utterly pissed off. Of course it would have been too obvious to go back to the motel. Too dangerous, but part of Morgan, _a really big part_, wanted the UnSub to be so stupid as to do so.

Rather than comment at all on the matter, Hotch found himself walking towards the VW van. It was parked a few yards away from where he stood, crime scene tape clearly marked around it. They would need to take it in soon, but everything needed to be gathered. Perhaps there were more clues – though he doubted it. It was as if a dog had eaten all of the potential bread crumbs Reid might've left for them. The underground casino hadn't gotten them to the concert venue. The double murder had gotten them to the concert venue and something told Hotch that if this had led them to nothing, Reid would have to genius his way out of this. That maybe they wouldn't be able to help, as much as they wanted to. Needed to.

"What have you found, Detective?" asked Hotch as he approached the crime scene tape. The older man cleared his throat and pointed at the vehicle.

"We've got blood. Lot's of it, but it's mostly really old. From earlier victims, I assume. All of the lava lamps are in there, but none of them are empty. I assume he either didn't use one on your agent or he disposed of it already-"

"He wouldn't dispose of it... he'd keep it as a reminder. There were no empty lamps at all?" Hotch mentally shuttered at the idea of Reid having been tortured with that. It just wasn't right or acceptable.

"Well, there were, but here's the weird thing... Rolled up inside of them was a picture of each of the victims. I'm assuming right before he killed them. There wasn't any of Agent Reid so I don't think we should assume he is dead."

Hotch suddenly did not like the words 'dead' and 'Agent Reid' in the same sentence. His brows furrowed, as if they were almost frowning.

"I have no doubt that he is alive still, Detective. The only thing I don't know is for how much longer. Is there any other evidence of him in there?"

"Well," the detective began, handing Hotch more bagged evidence. This time it was clothes. "Are these his clothes?"

Hotch took the bag and didn't need to look twice before nodding and giving it back to the detective.

"I need to meet up with my team to figure out what it is we're doing next."

* * *

"Stay awake, Spencer. Or should I call you Reid like your colleagues? They seem quite charming."

Reid was now sitting up, tied to his own kitchen chair where he, on numerous occasions, sat and ate dinner alone. The room seemed even colder than it had before.

"Is this what you were like at work after you got high? Honestly, I don't see how they dealt with you. You're not much of a help to me even. Wake up."

A low groan passed Spencer's lips as his half lidded eyes glared up at Rob.

"Perhaps if you hadn't of drugged me in the first place," he retorted, voice dry and scratchy. He couldn't remember the last time he had even been hydrated. The worst part was he was in his own home, where he knew there was water in the fridge just feet behind him and there was nothing he could do about it.

For his remark, he received a sharp slap against his profound cheekbone and then before he even expected it, a back handed slap the other way. A small whimper forced it's way through his tired throat. Spencer found it in himself to continue the small speech he had begun.

"Or were you not strong enough to keep me incapacitated without drugging me? Thought you wouldn't be able to handle me after I woke up? I'm assuming you were shocked at how strong I was really was. I would've been able to take you down in that parking lot if you hadn't of had my gun. You're just weak."

"Shut up!" Rob ordered, red fury rising in his cheeks. He quickly got out the syringe from his pocket, taunting it at the boy in front of him.

"Oh drug me some more. You do realize the more you do it, the less pain I feel. That's the point in burning your victims right? So you can see their pain. Hell, it probably gets you off. Then you document it somehow and relive _torturing _and _killing_ innocent people just so you can finally get a rise out of-"

Before any more words could be said, Rob thrust the syringe into Reid's arm. He did not even put anything in it. Just continued to jab the needle into his forearm over and over again, little dots of blood rising to the surface with the more force he used each time. The agent's eyes slammed shut and it was more than difficult not to make the pained noises that so badly wanted to escape his throat. He didn't want to give the man in front of him a reason to like this. Once Rob realized that nothing was coming out of it, he threw the syringe across the room and walked straight to the other end of the kitchen. The wetness in Spencer's eyes was undeniable, but it couldn't be seen yet. His arm had a series of tiny marks that stung horribly.

When Rob returned, he held a knife in his hand. Reid really wasn't surprised, but he wasn't exactly excited for what came next either. Squeezing his eyes shut, he winced at the cold metal against his hand. Then it was gone and moments later, his wrists were no longer bound together. Soon all of the rope holding him to the chair had disappeared. Before Rob came back up from where he was squatting on the floor, he sliced the blade behind both of Reid's ankles, causing a loud whimper from a few feet above him.

"Run Spencer. I want you to run. Go on, get out! Run!"

The pain that now seared through his ankles caused his lack of judgment as he did as he was told to. He ran, oh he ran like hell. He didn't make it but five feet though before he collapsed onto the ground. The only thing he could feel was his body shaking from the cold and the pain, his elbows attempting to crawl him towards the door before him. Before he even made it to the mat in front of it, calloused hands took hold around his ankles, causing it to burn even more so than it had before. As his voice finally allowed him to scream, his legs were dropped and a foot soon kicked him in the face. Rob sunk to his knees, looking Spencer in his pained eyes and smirked. He smirked and through all the pain and discomfort Reid felt, he could not have been more angry at the fact that this man was on top of him and smirking. Then the real pain occurred. Right in his stomach, in between his ribs was the feeling of being invaded. His flesh was being invaded with the knife, the stab causing Spencer to lose his breath just as much as it had before. His eyes shot wide and he couldn't allow a muscle in his body to move. They wouldn't even spasm. His eyes fell shut moments later and all he could do was heave. Heave and hope someone would find him. Heave and hope that he didn't bleed out. Heave and hope that someone would find the need to come to his apartment. Heave and hope that it couldn't get much worse than this.

* * *

A/N: Just saying really quick the idea of his ankles being cut totally hurts my feet haha, but it was necessary. Don't hate me for torturing himmm. :( Also, with having gotten some confused reviews, I realize I haven't been very specific about the time line. Let me just point out that the team has been very slow at figuring everything out and there's been at least 12 hours inbetween the concert venue incident and arriving at Reid's home (obviously you cannot just walk to VA from TN) haha. Sorry for not clearing all of that up! Don't doubt me, it's all part of my master plan. :)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hi hello! Tis me again. I hope everyone is getting stoked for the holidays (all you school-goers I assume are grateful for some time off)! I was really excited to write this chapter because sometimes I just lay in bed pondering ideas around. There were a few changes in my mind (and as you read you'll see quite a few 'I was sooo not expecting that moments'), but I hope everyone is still happy with me. I have my time line all set up which is quite exciting. All of your reviews are so great. You'd be astonished at how much they help me just write another chapter. I have had to do a bunch of research for this story which is more than I'm used to, so if I got anything wrong I'm terribly sorry. Expect a new chapter in a couple of days. Thank you again and I hope for feedback and that you like everything you see! :) Oh and I realize chapter two didn't have the breaks to separate each part of the story. That was because I had a friend beta for me and I didn't notice they didn't appear when I uploaded it from my word processor. It's all fixed now and I'm sorry if it confused anyone.

* * *

Chaos. That would be the correct term to describe everything going on around the small, crowded police department. Chaos. There was Morgan who sat at an abandoned desk that belonged to another officer, head propped up by his hands as he stared forward into nothingness. Nothingness was easy, but it didn't get them any closer to finding Reid. Then there was Hotch who was consistently asking the lead detective if they had found anything else. It made him feel as if he wasn't doing his job. He was the one who was supposed to be finding things, but they'd run out of evidence to collect. All of the evidence in the world would only lead them to a dead end. Then there was Prentiss and Rossi who sat across from each other in the main lobby of the department, both sipping on their coffees silently. J.J. was picking up her phone every few moments, trying to make the phone calls to the press last as few minutes as they needed to. She didn't care about the press. No one cared about anything but getting Reid back. Perhaps that was the issue in the first place.

An irritable vibrating began to echo throughout the room. Sure, it was far from silent; there were officers speaking loudly and papers shuffling. Which truly, explained the chaotic spirit of the room. It was all the team could hear though as it projected off of Morgan's desk. It literally took him a few moments to comprehend the sound. He glanced at the name lit up on the screen and slowly opened the phone. With a tired and monotonous voice, he answered.

"Got anything for me baby girl?" His eyes moved back to the blank wall in front of him, sure that this was nothing but another dead end.

"_I um- there's someone on the line who wants to speak to you. I have him on hold... he found something pertaining to Reid. Is the team with you?_"

Morgan's body movement quickly shifted and he jumped to his feet. "Hotch! Guys! C'mere!" His fingers fumbled to turn on speaker phone and he addressed Garcia to carry on as the team circled around him.

"_Okay- he says he found Reid's card... I'll just let him explain._" There was another pause and another voice rang through the speaker.

"_Am I speaking with the team leader?_" asked an extremely redneck accent. Hotch cleared his throat.

"Yes you are. I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. I believe you have some evidence pertaining to my agent?"

"_Oh yes yes. I was just cleanin' out the bathroom of my station. I work at a gas station ya' see. In Blacksburg, Virginia. I see this little card and I figure it's just trash some jack ass forgot ter throw away. 'Turns out it's some business card. I wouldn't have given it two looks if it didn't had some kinda blood stain on it. Like a fingerprint? Anyways, front of it says some junk about the FBI. Then Spencer Reid. I turn the thing over and some scribbled message's on it! I'reads, 'Help. Call the office number.' Tha's it, but I figure if this is FBI matters I best call._"

"Sir, my team and I are going to come to you right now. Garcia, send the address to my PDA." Without another word, he walked away from the phone and got out his own. "I need to get the jet ready. He's taken him to Virginia. The question is why."

* * *

It was very often that Reid would wake up with a dull ache in his body. He did a lot physically as a person, therefore he didn't even question it. This time though, his body felt completely broken. As if every bone in his body had been fractured and would never heal right. His head, oh how it pounded against his semi-functioning brain. His forearms throbbed and ached, as did his chest and thighs. His stomach burned and churned, as if there were devices going on inside of his body attempting to break him from within. Then there were his ankles. Not only was the pain unbearable, it was uncomfortable just as well. The idea and the reliving of the pain tearing throughout his body. There were times when he cursed himself for his memory. This was one of them.

The grogginess that once filled his body was completely gone. Any effect the Dilaudid had before had most definitely wore off. This probably helped the fact that he was rudely awakened by his own body turning against him. It was hard to breathe - he felt suffocated. When his eyes finally allowed themselves to open, he saw his own ceiling of his own bedroom. He moved his arms. They were chained to something with his handcuffs, but what? Rather than stiff and uncomfortable, the surface beneath him was squishy and soft. He was, no doubt, on his own bed. Which left one explanation for the handcuffs: he was chained to his bedpost. There would really be no point in binding his legs, seeing as any movement he made allowed bursts of pain to fill his body.

Within a few moments, footsteps were heard entering his room. The smell of coffee which was usually so comforting to the agent filled his nostrils. Before him stood Rob, a mug in his hands as he stared at the distressed young man. If Reid could see himself, he was sure he'd wince and look away. If this was any other crime scene that he looked upon, he wouldn't be able to hold a stare for more than a few moments without feeling disgusted. He felt disgusting.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?" asked Spencer, his voice raspy and dry. Unlike anything he'd ever heard from himself before. To say he was dehydrated would be an understatement. The question wasn't really because he wished for death by this point, although the pain he wouldn't be able to deal with much longer. He received no response, just a glare. Rather than pushing the matter as he usually would, he changed the subject. "Y-you know... if you want to keep me alive for whatever reason, you're going to have to give me water. I won't make it much longer without it." Again, no words were spoken in response, but Rob descended off into the other room.

With all the strength he had, Spencer lifted his pounding head to examine his body. There was part of a sheet tied around his stomach where he had been stabbed, likely to refrain it from bleeding. His ankles too had tight cloth wrapped around them. He was sure the cut wasn't deep enough to hit the tendon beneath the flesh, but with the condition his body felt at the moment, he wasn't about to try and see if he could move his legs either. With a small sigh of relief, his head fell back against the mattress, the pillows that were once present when he slept in the bed usually now gone.

If Rob was trying so hard not to actually kill him, he must have not meant to injure him so badly in the first place. It must've been the rage he felt – or the need for domination. It was a weakness on his behalf and Reid was going to do whatever he needed to to make his captor weak. Perhaps, it would be the only way out.

Rob returned with a water bottle in his hands, unscrewed with a straw stuck inside. "Sit up," he demanded of Reid. The agent tried with effort, but his body refused to listen to him.

"I-I-I can't. I can't move."

"Sit up, or you don't get any water." Spencer blinked, keeping his eyes closed tightly for a few moments before opening them again and forced his body upward with all the strength he had. His arms twisted awkwardly behind him, causing him to cry out. The bottle was put to his lips, straw soon covered by his mouth as he sipped away half of the bottle. It was forced away from him quickly, leaving Spencer feeling still a bit empty. His stomach growled unceremoniously, but he didn't even begin to push that matter. "I'm not about to give you a bunch of bathroom breaks so be happy you got what you got."

Reid's body fell limp back onto the bed, as his eyes closed. He considered this the little peaceful rest he'd be getting for a while.

* * *

While in the jet, no one said a word. It was as quiet as it had been in the department, although this time there was no background shuffling or talking – just the roar of the engine. Each mind was still filled with chaos though. Morgan didn't have on his headphones, Hotch didn't stare out of the window, no one had their nose stuck in a book or a case file. Most eyes focused on their own hands, each mind realizing the extent of what could have happened to one of their own. They all had seen the worst – who was to say Reid wasn't one of those cases?

"We have to believe he is going to be okay," Prentiss finally said, unable to handle the silence. "We are the only ones who can have the faith in him that he needs. Everyone keeps imagining what all of these UnSubs have done to their victims, but Reid isn't just one of _those_ victims. He's qualified and smart. He's one of us. I don't know about you, but I know he can at least hold off the UnSub until we find him."

The mutual agreement with Prentiss was silent, but more outspoken than any words could've described. Luckily, when they filed into the SUV that would take them to the gas station, the silence was really broken. This time by Hotch's phone ringing.

"Hotchner," he answered, emotionless.

"_Agent Hotchner, this is Detective Burns. It seems just a little bit after you left, Priest's father decided to speak. I had one of my own go in and interrogate him seeing as we couldn't get in touch with you on your flight. The most important thing we found out was though, Priest never listened to 60's music. Not while the kid was growing up. His son never did either – apparently he was a metal head or something like that. I don't understand, your profile said-_"

"The profile was wrong. I-I'll call you back detective." Hotch closed his phone and looked forward blankly for a moment.

"What is it, Hotch?" asked Morgan.

"I think we've had this all wrong. What if murdering all of those people was just to get us here. What if his plan all along was to take an FBI agent? No one who just killed people for the sake of music would've been this precise and untraceable. I think this was his plan."

* * *

The gas station was just off of the interstate. There was practically no one around considering the city wasn't the most rural in the area. One would think it would be more populated than this. Each agent hopped out of the SUV and made their way towards the station. A man with a long beard and short, untidy brown hair stood just in front of it, waving to the agents as if they were celebrities.

"Hi Mr. Crawford, I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner, we spoke on the phone. These are Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, and Dave Rossi."

"Hello hello," he said rather cheerfully, nodding to each of the agents. Immediately, he held out the card he had found to which Hotch thoroughly examined it. Everything read just as the man had said.

"Sir, do you remember seeing anyone come into your store earlier that looked like this?" asked J.J. as she handed two photographs to the man; one of Reid and one of Rob.

"Yes! Yes I do. That one there," he pointed to Reid, "busted in here like nobody's business, looking like he was fixin' ter be sick. Then that guy," he now pointed to Rob, "followed him in. 'Told me the kid had just eaten some bad lunch while they was on their way ter Baltimore. 'Said he was so nauseated, he fell an' hit his head on the concrete... he didn't hit his head on the concrete did 'e?"

"No sir, I don't believe so. Do you have any security cameras?" pressed Hotch, not wanting to waste any time.

"Can't afford 'em. I'm so sorry, Sir. I woulda stopped them if I'da known!" Guilt rushed over the store-owner's face.

"It's not your fault," Prentiss said gently as Hotch walked away a few feet.

"He's going to Quantico," Hotch finally said, realization in his eyes, as if it should've been obvious the entire time. "When you're driving, you have to go this way. He's taking Reid to Quantico. We need to leave now."

* * *

The idea of finding sleep seemed so endearing, yet so dangerous. Reid attempted to anyway, but was not granted with it. The pain in his body was too overwhelming so he fell into an almost light nap. That's when he heard a knocking noise. His eyes opened and he looked up, unaware of where it was coming from. Was it coming from his door? Was someone here to save him? His heart lunged and he was two seconds from screaming for help.

"Say a word and I swear to God, I'll put a bullet through that smart little brain of yours," said the cold voice, reminding him that sometimes in life, there was no way out. His eyes scanned confusedly as his shackles were undone. A bathrobe was thrown at him shortly thereafter. "Get up. You need to go answer your door so hurry up." With all of the strength he had lost and all of the pain that tore through his body, Reid easily sat up and put on the bathrobe. It turns out his legs did work after all. Each step towards his front door felt like needles piercing him from his heels. He continued his journey. Each step was closer to freedom. Somehow, he had a good feeling about this. Even with a gun to the back of his head as he walked, he felt better with each long, painful step. Then he was at his door.

"Police open up!" exclaimed a voice from the opposite side of the door. Reid couldn't have unlocked the door faster, swinging it open. This was too easy.

Before him stood an officer who seemingly had absolutely no idea what was going on. Before him stood a confused man who had gotten a noise complaint from the room above him due to Reid's screaming earlier. Before him stood that could've been his rescuer, had Rob not put a bullet through his forehead before he could speak or call for help. Before him stood a dead officer who was now being pulled into his own apartment.

Reid was sure thoughts had never flowed through his brain so fast before. He went from safe and rescued, to astonished at the scene before him, to confused, to _someone had to have heard that gun shot_, to very very frightened.

"You son of a bitch!" Rob yelled, suddenly coming at Spencer with all of the force he could conjure up. The blow to the face was definitely not the first and definitely not the most forceful, but it did send Spencer straight to the floor. "Can you not keep _quiet_?! You are so screwed!" he continued to bellow as he threw more punches at the helpless genius. Reid pulled himself into the fetal position, small whimpers passing his lips as tears fell easily down his face. Rob stood again, kicking him once-twice-three times into the stomach before clearing his throat.

"I-I-I can recite lyrics to you... I know every song by Bob Dylan..." he said in a quiet, distant voice. He felt incredibly stupid, but he was desperate. It's all he had.

"For a genius, you're a moron." Rob put on a different voice, that of a mocking tone. "You're-you're just as bad as the others... just as bad." He chuckled, a hint of evil behind his eyes. "You think I did all of this because I was seeking revenge on the sixties musical era? Think, Reid. It was easy enough to get you and your team down here. One thing is true. People like you killed my mother. The BAU killed my mom... ten years ago."

"I-I wasn't even on the team then..."

"What worse punishment than taking one of their own? Luckily for me it was probably their weakest, youngest member. It really was going to be a draw. You should've realized solving the case was too easy. I led you right to my house. _You _were the one who made it too easy. Wandering off by yourself. While my father held the other agent's attention. You deserve to die all the same. And you will. I'm going to wait until you're begging for death though."

The tears had yet to stop flowing down Reid's cheeks as he heaved for breath. All of the information was so overwhelming that he could barely handle it. Receiving another kick to his lower abdomen caused him to make another distant wheezing sound and cry out at the same time.

"I managed to break you. I don't doubt I will have you begging me for your death before nightfall comes."

Instinctively, Spencer's eyes fell upon his window, bright light shining through. Considering the level of the sun, it was probably around three in the afternoon. Though, his mind could be fooling with him and he could be extremely off. He assumed it to be three in the afternoon though.

He didn't dare say another word. Unless he came up with a brilliant plan soon, he'd be dead before sundown whether he begged for it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I always feel like I take way too long to update, ughh! I'm sorry everyone. I may or may not update before Christmas - we'll see. Let's hope I do because I'll be mad busy the few days after and the last thing I want to do is take a break from this story for over a week! There's a better A/N at the end. :)

* * *

He wasn't sure if this was supposed to be some kind of torture. For hours on end now, Spencer Reid lay in the fetal position on the cold tile of his bathroom floor. More than anything he was in pain, but the cold didn't help in the slightest. All he could do was refuse to move because his hands and ankles were bound with no way of getting out of his bathroom anyway. He was locked in. The cold got worse with the more blood that drained from his body. With the consciousness that drained from within him, but he knew more than anyone that the last thing he could do right now was sleep. It would be too dangerous.

Thoughts began to stop being enough to occupy his mind.

Statistics began to stop functioning correctly in his head.

The cold sweat on his forehead was irritating him and making the skin ticklish as it moved down his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Reid saw his towel rack. The ends were just sharp enough to cut the rope bindings around his hands. Thank God he had chosen the fancy ones to the ball-ended ones. Luckily, Rob decided to ditch the handcuffs when he wanted to 'have some fun' with a bit of rope kept in Spencer's supply closet. Now all he had to do was stand up enough to begin to grind the material against the towel rack. It was impossible with his feet bound as tightly as they were.

Spencer quickly developed a new plan, this time his back against the floor as he lifted his legs in the air and began to grind as silently as possible. It was a slow and painful process against the previous cuts, but it was all he had. Minutes later, his plan finally came through and the bindings broke from around his legs – relieving them. Now he just needed the strength to stand up. He refused to tell himself he couldn't do it.

Groaning, whimpering as he began by pushing himself up onto the bath tub's ledge, he stood up with wobbling knees. As soon as he made his first step towards the wall, he fell straight to the floor, a long whine pulling from his throat as he fought back tears. Again, he repeated the process, this time leaning against the wall that had the towel rack on it and began grinding the side closest to him. He used all of the strength he could conjure until the bindings fell off easily and he collapsed back onto the floor. His simple task took much more effort than he had anticipated, but worked nonetheless. Now he opened the cupboards beneath his sink.

To his dismay, he could only find a few items that would be useful for him. Just a week before, he had gone through and thrown out all of the items that were no longer good and he would need to replace. He hadn't bought the replacements yet. Rather than rubbing alcohol, he found the secret bottle of vodka. It would have to do to clean his shallow wounds because the last thing he wanted was for them to get infected. Though he needed to be careful because using it could be dangerous. He also found a few Q tips, cotton balls, band-aids, and a small half-used tube of Neosporin ointment. Reaching up as far as he could, Reid wet some toilet paper from the sink above and began to press the cool water against the gashes, starting with the ones that were easiest to get to. His forearm was disgusting him, therefore he felt the need to begin there. After cleaning it with the water, dipping a Q-tip into the vodka and carefully rubbing it around the infected area (which involved much hissing and whimpering on Spencer's behalf), dabbing it with cotton balls, and carefully rubbing Neosporin on it, he just let the arm fall uselessly at his side. There would be no reason to waste the band-aids on something so minor compared to the rest of his wounds.

The rest of the journey along his body began. Each involved the same process, the deeper gashes receiving band-aids while he was just more careful with the ones he left uncovered. He saved the stab in his stomach for last. He honestly had no idea how he hadn't bled out yet. It wasn't as if Reid didn't know all of the facts about these things prior to being stabbed. It wasn't as if Reid was naïve on the subject matter. Yet, there he was, still able to move around even if it were barely.

Cleaning it made him feel slightly better in all honesty. It wasn't as deep or as large as he had expected it to be. The blade definitely hadn't gone in as far as he had initially thought it had and it didn't pierce anything important. Rob's sloppiness was probably the only reason he was alive.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" bellowed Rob from just behind Spencer, in between the threshold. Reid's face turned red within seconds, looking behind himself weakly as the angry man approached him. "You think you can doctor yourself up Dr. Reid? Oh! I get it! Well, let's see you then. Let's see you make yourself all better. It was a waste of time, you know. I'm going to kill you anyway. I guess you won't be all bloody and ugly for your little friends when they finally find your decomposing body. If they could even want to. You seem rather useless to me."

With a volt of force, Rob jerked Reid up and slammed him into the wall. The same wall with the towel racks. Spencer could already feel the imprint forming within the flesh of his back. Hands were covering his neck and essentially, were the only thing keeping the agent from falling back to the cold, solid floor. That wasn't a good thing. He could feel the air drain from his lungs. Each hopeful inhale was granted with nothing. Walls seemingly closed in. This could not be Spencer Reid's death. He could not go down like this.

Then it was as if he hadn't had more breath in his life. His airways had never been more clear in his entire being as he gasped and selfishly took in all of the oxygen he could get. It only lasted a few moments though. Luckily, the pain from being shoved into the shower and hitting his head on the faucet with an intense force knocked him out. The only issue was if he would be waking up ever again.

* * *

The jet was their only plausible way of transport if the team wanted to find Reid. Four and a half hours was far too long of a drive when the jet would be so much faster. The only problem was, they hadn't quite figured out _where it was_ they might find their youngest agent.

Needless to say, this was not a silent jet ride.

"We need to think of all of the places the UnSub might take Reid. Anything significant to either of them, but it would probably be significant to Reid," said Hotch as he opened a pen. He had decided that writing everything down would make him feel as if he was doing a hell of a lot more than he really was.

"Well, there's Headquarters..." began J.J.

"He wouldn't take him there," butted in Morgan, "it's far too easy to get caught. Especially considering how long he's had him there. We should assume he has his credentials and driver's license though."

Prentiss opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it just as fast.

"What is it, Prentiss?" asked Hotch.

"I was just going to say... we should assume he has his gun too, but it doesn't really help anything. Or make us feel any better."

A moment of silence passed.

"Does anyone even know where Reid goes?" asked Rossi, genuinely stuck on the thought.

"Well... he goes... to his apartment," responded Morgan, some question in his voice. "I mean... maybe the library, too? Any place I could think of would not be where our UnSub would take Reid. Especially if his plan all along was to- yeah." The words _torture and kill_ didn't really need to be said at the end of the sentence, seeing as everyone had already thought it mentally regardless.

"Okay assuming he _did_ go to Reid's apartment. How do they get inside? Assuming Reid is or isn't incapacitated when they arrive," pushes Hotch.

"He keeps a spare key in the left broken porch light in front of his apartment," Morgan replied quickly.

The rest of the team stared at the agent questioningly.

"What? He told me unless there were to ever be an emergency!"

"Probably because he didn't want you to kick his door down," giggled J.J. Small laughter from most of the team followed the statement until they realized the task at hand again. Until they realized Reid wasn't there to tease him about it as well.

"Well team, it looks like we have only one choice for now. We go to Reid's apartment. Hopefully we're right about this, but if we're not, we'll go directly to headquarters to figure out what we're missing."

The entire ordeal seemed like their last real chance. Everything else would have to wait.

* * *

The team was geared up in their FBI stenciled Kevlar vests, the local SWAT and police following. Morgan and Hotch led their way up the stairs of the building, guns drawn and ready to shoot. For some reason, out of all the times before, Morgan didn't think he'd mind wringing the neck of the guy who took Reid. It was, perhaps, just an impulsive thought that would pass. They reached the door, everyone's hearts seemingly beating faster than normal in unity. This was either it or it wasn't. And if it was, what was beyond this door was unguessable.

Hotch reached up into the broken light, feeling around. "The key isn't in here," he muttered.

"FBI OPEN UP!" yelled Morgan in his authoritative tone as he pounded on the door. Him and Hotch were both parted at either side. Hotch gave him the 'okay go' nod and Morgan wasted no time kicking the door down to his colleague's apartment. Immediately, they saw blood on the floor in front of them as they inched in carefully. "Blood," Morgan mumbled, feeling bile come up in his throat as he examined the small living room. "Everything's clear in here!" The agent moved on to the bedroom, quickly clearing it. Just as the thoughts of being too late began to render his mind, he saw the closed bathroom door. Breath heavy and footsteps light, he held his gun out in front of him and opened the door cautiously. Before him, awkwardly collapsed in the bath tub laid Spencer Reid. "I got him!" he yelled into the speaker on his shoulder before running towards the tub.

Morgan's hands quickly searched for Spencer's pulse, a wave of relief and breath exhaling from him as he found it. "Call the EMTs! We need a medic!" His hand found Spencer's face, but the boy did not regain any consciousness at all. So badly he wanted to move him from what looked to be such an uncomfortable position, but he needed to wait for the medic to do so. Instead, he just kept his hand on the stubbled cheek of his colleague and waited. He hardly noticed when the rest of the team joined him inside, only moving when he heard Hotch's voice.

"Is he-"

"He's alive. I found his pulse."

"Conscious?"

"No. I don't want to move him-"

"Agents, do you mind getting out of the way? We need to bring a stretcher in here," said another voice. It was unfamiliar to Morgan's ears and the last thing he wanted to do was just let Reid go. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and descended into the bedroom with the rest of his team.

"I'll ride with him to the hospital, Hotch," Morgan more-so demanded than asked. His superior didn't glare or frown as he usually would – simply nodded.

"That's a good idea. The rest of us will meet you there, but I think it's best if he wakes up... if he does... with you by his side."

Morgan didn't waste another moment before following the stretcher that bound Reid out of the apartment. The rest of the team felt as if they could finally take a relieved breath. For now, Reid was at least in their hands and that was all that mattered. Then they looked around, each having their own growing opinion.

"I don't want to do this. Be here. Figure out what happened. I want it to all go away," said J.J. with a small voice as she noticed the bloody sheets in front of her.

"We don't have a choice. Reid is our team member, our-our," Hotch was, for the first time in a very long time, at a loss of words. What _was_ Reid?

"I would do anything for him... that's not what I meant. I wish it all could've been avoided in the first place."

"Has anyone actually put into perspective that the UnSub is not here?" asked Rossi.

"And with all of those squad cares and ambulances outside, I don't believe he will be coming up to be checking on Reid. It looks like we're going to have to get a move on finding him. And balance out making sure Reid is okay," Hotch replied.

* * *

Morgan felt comfortable with his hand gently atop Reid's shoulder. It seemed to be the one area of his body that wasn't in pain. Just by looking at the young agent, it was as if his own eyes had seen too much. Reid definitely had a black eye, with a bruise going a little lower down his profound cheek bone. His lip was split and there was another gash at his hair line. His left nostril left a trail of dry leaked blood, a small dark bruise beginning to form around it. Luckily, the blanket covering his body was stopping his eyes from wandering to whatever other damage might've occurred to his colleague – his _friend_.

Slowly, Reid began to open his eyes. Was he in his small bathroom still? He couldn't possibly be this warm or feel like he was moving from underneath in his bathroom. But he was constrained still. Everything remained blurry.

"Hey, kid," Morgan said softly, squeezing his shoulder merely slightly. Reid's eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

* * *

A/N: So I guess this is all your Christmas present (unless you don't celebrate Christmas, in that case Happy Holiday!). Reid is found and I didn't leave you with a total cliffhanger. :) This will still be going on for a few more chapters so don't worry about it being over soon or anything! Also, I made a little One!shot Christmas Hotch/Reid fic and it's posted under all of my stories. Feel free to read (I seriously just spelled "Reid" twice instead of "read") it if you get to missing my writing. Reviews are always appreciated on everything and I'd love feedback for this chapter. Thanks again everyone for all of the support so far because I really don't think I could've come up with all of this without your help.

"M-Morgan?" he groaned, very quietly and even more muffled by the mask over his mouth.

"Yeah, it's me. Don't try to talk – just relax. We've got you now. You're safe."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I am sooo sorry for the long update. It's the holidays so what do ya expect?! Hahaha. I know this seems like a filler chapter, but it needed to be done so don't get all ~bored~ with me please rofl. Anyway I promise some really good stuff in the next update (which WILL be in approx. 2-3 days). I hope everyone had a great Christmas/whatever holiday you celebrate. :) Enjoy.

* * *

The doors opened so many times. Morgan didn't miss a glance each time either, in hopes the regards were good news for himself and his friend. They were all empty hopes though, three hours having passed since they had arrived at the hospital. He advised the team that there was nothing they could do there, so they should just try and either finally get some rest or work what they were considering their case. No one slept. That was for certain.

At intervals of every fifteen minutes at least someone from the team would call. At first it was a bit irritating, but it helped keep Morgan awake and that was all that mattered at that point. The news he had already received was beyond unsettling, but it was nothing compared to what could come next. For this is why Morgan sat in the uncomfortable plastic seat of the emergency room and kept his thumbs pressed into his temples. Not thinking would make the situation all the more better, but it was far from possible.

"Morgan," came a steady, monotonous voice from above the man whom was crouched over. His thumbs continuously rolled circles into his temples. Even Morgan would admit that the presence was a bit shocking, considering he had been paying attention so well not even two minutes ago as to who came up to him.

"Hotch," he muttered, looking up slowly as he blinked away his sleepiness. It was so well strewn into everyone's faces, but no one would admit it.

Hotch pulled a seat from beside Morgan and placed it in front of him, so as to sit directly across from him. Morgan really couldn't decide how Hotch held his composure in a time like this when he himself was ready to punch a hole through the wall from just waiting.

"Has the doctor told you anything? When J.J. called me, she said the only thing you told her was that he is in surgery." A few blank blinks caused creases in Morgan's worn out face, but he cleared his throat nonetheless.

"Full report on what I know?"

"I would expect nothing less."

"Doc said uh, he's bleeding internally. It was really weird because for the life of me, I don't remember him bleeding so badly until I looked at my hands before getting out of the ambulance. Everything was fine, but then it wasn't. Well, it wasn't fine – it was – you know..." Morgan looked down at his hands that were now clean of the blood, though his sleeves were not. "He um, he's got a concussion to his left temporal lobe. Puncture wounds on his right forearm... from what he assumed was from a syringe. But they were really just jabbed holes in his skin, Hotch. Like when an addict shakes too much when trying to shoot up and bleeds everywhere from missing a vein. It couldn't have been him though; first of all he isn't left handed. They don't know what he was drugged with yet."

"The crime scene unit found Dilaudid... or what was left of it in Reid's living room." Morgan winced and shook his head.

"I don't know what it was doing there, but Reid is not using. And as far as I'm concerned, when he gets out of here, he won't see the shit ever again." Morgan's rising temper subsided within a few moments, giving him the chance to finish. "There's abrasions on his wrists and ankles. His ankles are cut-" the longer he went on, the more it seemed to settle within Morgan that this was real; seemingly making him feel nauseated, "-he'll need stitches. I don't really know what they're doing right now except for the surgery. 'Haven't heard word in a couple of hours. It's driving me crazy, man." Explaining what the doctor had told Morgan to Hotch made the images all the more clear within his mind. He had been with Reid, but the mental images were so much worse. What he truly wanted to do to the man who'd done it would be completely unethical and inappropriate.

Morgan swore he saw emotion in Hotch's eyes as he finally met them with his own, but within a flicker it dissipated. Though the news seemed to have made his superior incapable of speaking.

"That's all they know for now anyway. We'll know more when he's out of surgery. When he wakes up too. The psychological damage, man, I can't even begin to wonder what this son of a bitch-"

"Morgan, being angry at a time like this isn't going to help anything. Just be strong for Reid. He needs it from all of us. The last thing he'll want to wake up to is hateful eyes." With a small nod, Morgan's lips sealed shut. For a few minutes, the two men sat in an uncomfortable silence. It was as if all the silence in the room brought the most chaos in these situations. _Chaos_. Finally, Morgan spoke again.

"Did you uh, find Robert Priest yet?" Without looking up to meet his subordinate's eyes, Hotch shook his head and sighed.

"No. He never returned to Reid's apartment, which makes logical sense. We don't know why he left in the first place. We don't really know anything. Reid's car was missing, so that probably means the UnSub used it to transport himself to wherever he went. The car used to get there was still in the lot though, so it's being processed as we speak. We'll catch him, Morgan. Don't worry so much about that."

Not even Hotch could believe the words he had spoken, for more than anything at the moment, he wanted to put the bastard behind bars. Well perhaps knowing Reid was okay was his first priority, but he didn't have the strong emotion of rage writhing within him for Reid – just his abductor.

"You're here for Spencer Reid, correct?" asked a voice behind Hotch. Both agents quickly stood up, facing him.

"Yes, I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. Do you have any news from the surgery?"

* * *

_The only times Reid could remember something being so bright were when he dreamt high. The sensation of drugs taking over his body and enticing him both excited and scared him. In the long run, he knew it was horrible – but it felt right. He knew the statistics. It's never as good as the first time and he'd spend the rest of his addiction trying to find that high again, but realistically speaking, Reid wasn't all that logical when he was using. _

_Every line around him seemed blurred. He was either awake and extremely high or asleep in some kind of amazing dream. That's what it would feel like – amazing. Except everything was wrong. The light was _too_ bright and the lines were _too _blurred. Voices were speaking to him from what seemed like within._

_'God no, please don't let me turn into my mother. I can't be my mother' was the only recurring thought in his head. _

_Blink._

_He was now laying on a cold surface that seemed to be metal. Whatever it was, his body heat refused to radiate it whatsoever. His body trembled furiously, but he could not figure out what the hell was wrong. He was in a morgue. He was in a morgue and was surrounded by a small, confined space. It was so cold. So. Very. Cold. The idea of being able to get out seemed impossible, even without the effort of trying. No matter how hard he attempted to life them, his limbs refused to listen to his brain. His body was dead, but his mind was very, very alive. _

_Blink._

_Running. Running so fast he could barely feel the earth beneath him. He had no coherence to what he was running from, but he had to. He just knew he had to. Then suddenly his body felt strangled. He couldn't breathe as well as before. This decided him to hide behind a rather large tree. The obvious seemed so logical._

"_Reid?" called out Morgan's worried voice from behind him. A hope spiked from within him. His friends had come to save him. They were going to surely take him home. For the strangest reason, Reid couldn't remember 'home' whatsoever. In the moment, it didn't matter. He stepped out from behind the tree and was face to face with his colleague. "Glad I found you," said his voice, more mischievous and possessed than anything else. _

_Blink._

_It wasn't Morgan anymore. It was Rob. Rob who held the weapon that would surely cause his death. Running again. He didn't even know how he was doing it. It was like he was invincible, but not so at all. Every sense seemed to stop, even his breath perhaps. He was running with no breath or heart beat, but he was running faster than any Olympian racer ever had. He could make the statistics._

_If anyone would be around to tell his story._

_His socked feet stopped suddenly, causing his balance to unravel from beneath him. He was at a cliff and it was too late to take back the steps he had so easily forced forward. He should've watched where he was going. He should've noticed how dangerous his surroundings were. The laugh behind him was what irked him the most as he fell into nothingness._

_The only thought in his head as he awaited his death being 'I'm not going to wake up this time, am I?'.

* * *

_

"Reid! Reid! Man, wake up!" bellowed a concerned Morgan as he gently poked at a part of his friend's body that didn't look like it was going through immense pain. By the time Reid's heavily lidded eyelids lifted slightly, another figure approached his bedside. He couldn't make out faces – just voices. Morgan's voice had been in his dream, but it was just a disguise.

The youngest man began to shake vigorously, seemingly backing into a corner cowardly. "C-can't you just l-leave me alone?" croaked a very scratchy, low, confused and scared voice.

"Reid it's just us. Morgan and Hotch. Stop doing that or the IV will rip right out of your skin and I don't think anyone in this room wants to see how much pain you're really in." A few more blinks, and Reid was back to reality. The chills the dream had sent up his spine had finally vanished and he took a few careful breaths – as if they could be his last.

"You found me..." he muttered, more-so to himself than anything else. An easy smile was placed on Morgan's lips and even Hotch's stern frown lifted at the corners.

"Yeah, kid. We did. Of course we did. You're good now – well considering you don't plan on being really active within the next few weeks." A moment passed, nothing significant or life-changing. Everyone indulged in it though. For that small moment, everything was okay. Each face was calm and each heart rate beat steadily.

"This means you kicked in the door to my apartment, doesn't it?" asked Spencer, a small playfulness in his voice as he stared down Morgan.

"You bet your ass I did. I enjoyed every second of it too."

"For you it takes like three fifth's of a second." Hotch's eyes scanned over both of his subordinates. Something within him calmed slightly and he almost felt intrusive to the conversation he was more-so witnessing than interacting in. His time to speak with Reid was not now. It would come, eventually.

"I'm going to go grab some coffee. Do you want some, Morgan?"

"Yeah sure, man." Morgan nodded and Hotch descended out of the small room into the hallway.

Uncomfortably shifting, Reid attempted to sit up, finding a sharp pain stopping him in his tracks along with a warning voice from Morgan. "Don't even think about it. Just stay like that for now. I should tell the nurse you're awake."

"I'm sure Hotch already has. Just – give me a minute. I don't even... I don't even know." Morgan sat back down in the chair that was pulled up to the hospital bed and placed a reassuring hand on Reid's arm.

"How are you feeling? I mean, I know you're on a lot of Morphine right now and – trust me – I don't want you to worry about not being able to feel in control of your body. Or craving after this or something. I'm going to be here for you through all of this. I want you to know that, alright? You're not going to need to feel alone."

Reid smiled, obliviously. Completely out of place as if the words Morgan said had been extremely different.

"Oh no, I feel fine. I've never felt better actually. If anything, you look like you're in rougher shape than me." His eyes were dark, eyebrows contorting as if he were in some sort of pain.

"I know the Morphine is good, but there's not way in hell you're-"

"I'm fine, Morgan. Don't push it." His voice had dropped to a dangerously low octave as he glared at his friend. Morgan nodded and folded his arms over his chest.

"Alright then. I'm going to go find Hotch with my coffee. I'll be back in a minute." The face of the younger colleague looked extremely bewildered. He couldn't place from what though. Just that he looked like a whole pool of emotions; false-confidence, fear, worry, stress and hurt, the list adding up within the agent's mind. "I promise," he reassured when Reid didn't respond. The younger man just nodded slowly, the empty expression coming upon him again.

Slowly, making sure Reid was okay, Morgan walked outside and closed the door behind him. Hotch was sitting on a bench right beside the door, sipping on some coffee. Another mug sat at his feet, but Morgan assumed he hadn't wanted to intrude.

"I have no doubt he's suffering from acute stress disorder, Hotch," Morgan said slowly, taking a seat next to the man. "It's like – he's pretending nothing happened. Like he's just at his once-a-week stay in the hospital. I know we see it all the time, but I feel like – with all the knowledge he has, he should be able to, I don't know, figure it out."

Hotch took a deep breath and sighed.

"You and I both know he can't help it, Morgan. More than anyone. His best bet is therapy and a psychological evaluation, which we also know he will try to get out of. Reid's just like any one of us. You have to admit we're arrogant and we don't like admitting we need help. And it's not like it's the first time..." Hotch trailed off. He didn't want to finish the sentence. He had yet to figure out what seemed worse to him – the time before when Reid was abducted or now. How he was such an easy target wasn't rocket science, but it didn't help settle the feeling in the unit chief's gut. He still could remember how tightly Reid clung to him after they had found him the first time. This time, he wasn't conscious enough for his rescue. The pain seemed equally as bad from either situation and the worst part was, there was nothing anyone could _really_ do about it.

"But it's the last," Morgan finally said, patting Hotch's knee before standing up.

"Hey Morgan?" Hotch called out before Morgan placed his hand on the door to Reid's room. "When he's able to be released, I think it would be a good idea if he stayed with you for a little while. There's no way he'll be able to go back to his apartment, much less do I think he can handle being alone."

"I was just about to go inside and give him the offer."

* * *

A/N numero DOS: Okay guys, again I know this is just more so a filler chapter. Actually, there will be some humor in the next chapter or so, along with a mess of other emotions I assure you. Thank you guys for sticking with me :) And nooo the story isn't almost over. It's got a few chapters left. I promise. Until next time! Oh and the rest of the team will be wayy more involved I just wanted to keep this personal with Hotch and Morgan for reasons unsaid yet. K gooodnight. :)


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